


Harmony

by ridorana



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M, Post-Game, Spoilers, cuteness, fran's POV, implications of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:59:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9126820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridorana/pseuds/ridorana
Summary: It is nearly three in the morning, but Fran knows they are awake. Post-game.





	

  
It’s nearly three in the morning, but Fran knows they are awake. She can hear their voices, soft wisps of breath in the next room dulled occasionally by a rustle of blankets. They’re trying to keep their words a secret but it’s a fruitless task at that; Fran’s ears were not simply atop her head for decoration. Eavesdropping is inevitable for the life of a creature such as she. Separating the co-pilot’s cabin from the captain’s is naught but a thin wall, one that is unfortunately permeable to all sorts of sounds that usually come from Balthier’s room.Though Fran would admit with some annoyance that she has certainly overheard worse from the room next door, tonight is strangely a quiet eve; understandably so.  
  
Seeing as tonight, of all nights, is the first the pirate and his southern desert hume have seen each other since the fall of Bahamut, Fran has been expecting the worst racket she’s heard in two years. Knowing this, tonight she had stayed in Balfonheim’s Whitecap for longer than necessary, giving both herself and her partner some time apart before she returned to the Strahl well after midnight.  
  
They were still awake, predictably, when she arrived. But gasps, labored breaths, and moans were not what bombarded her ears with passionate cacophony. Rather, it was the soft puffs of air and chuckles that leaked through the cracks under Balthier’s door.  
  
In the darkness of her room, Fran can sense something in both of the humes’ voices that was not there before the events of Bahamut. It is tender, but not fragile, the way they carry their words in the thick black of early morn.   
  
She can make out the sound of their voices, yes, but their words are quiet, lost in the sounds of ruffled sheets and hands against skin. Distantly she catches the lilt of Balthier’s voice, muffled, most likely his lips against the tender juncture of the blonde’s shoulder and neck; she can hear the curves of his lips over bone, the brush of Balthier's nose against Vaan's hair, the soft bumps Balthier’s rings make against the line of Vaan’s spine. She imagines the desert child curled against her partner, perfectly content to being pet like a giant cat.  
  
There’s a small thump against the wall behind Fran’s headboard, followed by a young, breathy laugh that reminds Fran of sunshine. She can hear Vaan more clearly now, his head nearly matching hers on the other side of the wall. They have no idea.  
  
With Vaan closer to her there is no mistaking the sound of Balthier’s lips against the younger man’s. They kiss, and _gods_ how humes are _noisy_ when they kiss, all lips and tongue and touches that scream with heat, friction, desperation. She catches the hitch of Balthier’s breath, the scrape of Vaan’s teeth against the older male’s collarbone. A pleased hiss.  
  
“Again,” Vaan pants. His hands are making a clumsy purchase for Balthier, everywhere; she can hear the stumble of his touch, the eager gasp of breath. Balthier’s chuckle meshes through the wall - and Fran feels that she is imposing now. That laugh is meant only for Vaan’s ears, but she can’t find the strength of will to move. When was the last time she had heard him laugh like that? She thinks of a fledgling pirate, heart beating as fast as a coeurl high on the hunt, laughter lost in the wind after the thrill of his first heist somewhere in Rozzarria. That was years ago.

 “Please, Balthier, again,” Vaan continues to whisper, but she can still hear Balthier’s lips kissing the expanse of Vaan’s body. The sound of his fingers on Vaan's skin reminds her of the sea. She hears him pause.  
  
“Again? My my, Vaan, I'd trusted you wanted to walk tomorrow,” Balthier replies, and Fran’s lips twitch at the sides to hide a grin.  
  
“Who cares about walking? Where would I go? I don’t wanna go anywhere.” He says it so matter-of-factly, as if it's so obvious. There’s a pause, where no sound is nearly deafening, and then the softest brush of nose against nose, mingled breath…

  
They kiss again, moan lightly in unison. Fran is past the point of longing or envy for the passionate charade of _love_. Viera do not want or need what humes crave - what they sing, write, dance, dream about. More of a blessing than a curse, Fran typically thinks - but in this moment Balthier and Vaan's unbridled yearning for each other pries through the walls of the Strahl and envelopes her to a point of revelation. She feels a strange sort of gratefulness, knowing her Northern partner has found peace in a boy that reminds her of youth.  
  


As silently as she came, she rises from her bed and exits out the hatch, leaves the hangar, and steps into the thick ocean breeze again. She gazes out into the moonlight dancing languidly over the dark sea's expanse, thinks of Balthier's laughter with Vaan's, and smiles.


End file.
